


(parentheses)

by neednot



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Dana Scully - Freeform, Drabble, Gen, Pre-Series, high school scully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neednot/pseuds/neednot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she is a hurricane in combat boots, a cigarette hastily smoked behind the bleachers and a breath mint on her tongue before they catch her. she is a contradiction with her soft parts hidden in parentheses, her heart tucked away in her chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(parentheses)

dana scully is not a ‘good girl.’ 

her mother will tell her everyone goes through this—teenage rebellion angst and hardship. 

(sometimes if she presses her ear to her bedroom door she can hear them arguing about her, about what to do with her, but she just ignores it.) 

they never thought she’d be the one to lash out, break out. she knows she didn’t. when she and melissa were younger melissa was always the wild one, and scully the caring, compassionate, level-headed sister.

(so maybe this rebellion was natural, maybe.)

(but she still swerves for squirrels when she’s driving and she still cries at old yeller and her heart is as big as it ever was, try as she does to hide it.)

she wants to dye her hair fire-engine red, not the subtle sunset of her childhood. she wants to be something different than what they’ve raised her to be. 

(but she buys the box of dye and it burns her scalp and she cries and throws it out, and her mother doesn’t say a word.)

at school she is a hurricane in combat boots, a cigarette hastily smoked behind the bleachers and a breath mint on her tongue before they catch her. she is a contradiction with her soft parts hidden in parentheses, her heart tucked away in her chest. a boy’s hand on her wrist, on her waist, almost up her skirt. sometimes a girl’s hand. she’s not picky. 

(she acts like she’s too good for it, like all of them do. but she knows which girls will kiss her in the parking lot and the ones who think they won’t.) 

she does not know what she wants to grow up to be. 

maybe she doesn’t want to grow up. maybe she wants to be sixteen forever, sneaking cigarettes on the roof and watching the stars like there’s something bigger out there than she is.

at school no one whispers about her because they’re too scared, no one would dare cross dana—a fact she knows wasn’t true even a few months ago.

when did she decide to become fearless? when did she decide a sixteen-year-old girl was destined for something bigger than catholic school?

(truth is she still believes. truth is she still reads her bible every night though she’d vehemently deny it to anyone who asks.)

there’s something almost cliché in her rebellion, though she tries not to think about that. 

maybe when she’s older she’ll look back and shake her head at the girl she was, but for now she’s a hurricane in combat boots, a contradiction in parentheses, and no one dares to fuck with her.


End file.
